


Coda: Razor Wire

by Filigree



Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: Deathfic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-19
Updated: 2011-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-19 13:56:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigree/pseuds/Filigree





	Coda: Razor Wire

The Major got them to the waiting helicopter, amidst a hail of gunfire. That was nothing new for any of them. It had a been a clockwork mission so far, G thought, jumping instinctively when a bullet zinged sparks off the landing struts.

A little too clockwork.

The Alphabets still reeled from the Major's casual pre-mission announcement that he would be retiring within a week. He'd thanked them all, too, for being a good team. If the tight smile never reached his cool grey-green eyes, or if no real emotion warmed his voice, the Alphabets could forgive him. And no one ever mentioned the two missing men who should have been flanking the Major, his golden shadows.

Not the thief, six months dead.

And not the madman, quietly going madder in a prison's psych ward. It wasn't kindness, G knew, when the Major had stood up in court and reminded the prosecution that Germany and Britain could not apply a death penalty. "Let _him_ live with it," the Major had said. "As long as he can."

Another spray of bullets raked the helicopter's armoured flanks, just as it lifted up.

"Unh!" the Major grunted, but his iron grip on the door frame never faltered. The first expression G had seen in six months softened the man's face.

G could swear it was _relief_.

"Sir! You're hit!" G and A grabbed their commander, helped haul him into the helicopter.

"Is everyone safe?" yelled E, from his pilot's chair.

"Get my medical kit!" G shouted. "Major's hurt!"

Badly, too. The whole front of his jacket was now dark red and wet. G and A got him prone. A started stripping off the jacket to assess the damage, while G's fingers flew through his kit.

Hard, callused fingers caught the little agent's wrist. The Major's lips moved. The whisper itself was lost in the howl of the rotors and residual gunfire. But those thin lips moved again.

Saying _G, no._

Saying _Let me go._

Saying _Retire?_ And the other long-fingered hand mimed a gunshot to the side of the Major's head. _Planned it already. Don't have to, now._

"Major, _no!_" G screamed. Not a third man, not the best of them, their stern and beautiful heart! He'd saved the Major before. Hell, he'd saved them all, one time or another.

"G, no!" A yelled into his ear, and other agents pulled the small blond man away from his kit and his dying commander.

Klaus smiled, coughed a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.

G's first fury spent itself, as realization set in.

The Major would have killed himself? All the quiet preparations the man had made before this mission, suddenly made sense. And G couldn't, in conscience, deny the ironic blessing delivered by an anonymous Balkan rifle.

If my heart had been broken so, I couldn't have lasted this long, G thought.

"This way, he will have full honours," B said.

_Thank you_, the Major said, lips shaping silent words. _Can't go on. Don't want to remember the morgue. Funeral. Finding Z with that knife. Trial. Can't._

"Major," said G, as kind hands let him go, let him catch up the Major's cold fingers in his.

_I know, G. I know._ Black lashes settled over those glittering eyes. The Major's head turned a little. He coughed again, stubborn body trying to elevate itself, to breathe through the red tide drowning his lungs. G pushed him flat, opened the jacket completely so the cold air of 10,000 feet up could hasten the inevitable.

Every agent who could reach him did so, a hand on shoulder, face, neck, leg. He seemed to take comfort from the touches, nuzzling blindly into them. Someone, G didn't know who, said the Last Rites, the words coming in bits and pieces over the noise of flight.

Shock stole in like a gentle saint and spared the Major from suffocating in his own blood. One spasm, one jolt deep in that shattered chest that G could _feel_. A rush of breath and bloody foam.

No pulse.

The body settled, slack in the way that only dead flesh could be.

G curled up, weeping, heartbroken and ashamed of his own sheer relief.

B's hand clenched his shoulder.

"We know," said the other agent. "We know."

fin


End file.
